


Backup

by Teh_Poet



Series: In Which Lestrade Tries, But He Just Doesn't Get It [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, GridLOCK DC, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Plot, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn, Semi-Public Sex, Sherlock is a tornado, Then it's Sherstrade all teh way, This is a, Unless you don't wanna, and also praise kink, because why not, if you squint you can see some unrequited Johnlock, mildly, mini amounts of daddy kink, oh yeah, there is zero plot, writing table prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teh_Poet/pseuds/Teh_Poet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In all honesty there probably wasn’t even a case on, and Sherlock just didn’t know how to ask a friend out for the evening… In face of that rather sudden realization, Greg grabbed his own untouched glass and pulled a respectable amount of the foamy liquid down his throat before flashing a winning smile at the lonely detective. Sherlock started, eyes slitting in suspicion before something like relief flashed through his features. The answering grin was just as bright and lashes dipped low, a fine flush suffusing the pale skin.</p><p>Well. That was… different…</p><p>**</p><p>This was one of the prompts I got at the DC Gridlock writing workshop by the wonderful EmmaGrant01 but it kinda morphed into something beyond my control...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmagrant01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/gifts).



> >.>

Fuck, but Greg was tired. Exhausted more like. But Sherlock was off on a lark about some case that was ‘ _absolutely essential_ , Gavin, I _need_ your assistance’ and John was still off on his honeymoon with Mary, and he couldn’t very well leave Sherlock on his own and

 

“Hang on, is this a _gay bar_?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, the bloke at the back, six o clock, he’s carrying an unlicensed firearm, he’s not our man but perhaps it’s best to keep an eye on him…”

 

He was going to kill him. Greg Lestrade was going to kill Sherlock Holmes… It’s okay, he’d had a good run, he could say with an absolutely clear conscience that he’d given his all to the job and saved plenty of lives while upholding the law and

 

“You’re not drinking, you should be drinking, we have to blend in, do you think we should dance?”

 

“Sherlock, what the fuck are we even doing here? You don’t need my help, more often than not you’re complaining about being slowed down by ‘idiots like me’.”

 

Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut, and he busied himself with a long pull off the glass in his hand, but Greg did not miss the side-eye that was subtly directed his way. He deflated a little at the awkward pause but he knew Sherlock- remembered what he was like before John, how lost and small he was underneath all the loud sneering and false bravado… “Sorry, why don’t you tell me again about this guy…”

 

Sherlock reiterated the details of the private case he’d gotten, he’d asked Lestrade along for backup as the assailant was presumably violent and quick-witted. Greg didn’t quite believe that bit, he wasn’t lying when he’d said Sherlock hated working with others, but there was… something… it was in the stiffness of his shoulders, the pinch of his mouth… there was even something hollow in his gaze, like he was only devoting a small portion of his attention to the task at hand and something else was haunting him all the while… In all honesty there probably wasn’t even a case on, and Sherlock just didn’t know how to ask a friend out for the evening… In face of that rather sudden realization, Greg grabbed his own untouched glass and pulled a respectable amount of the foamy liquid down his throat before flashing a winning smile at the lonely detective. Sherlock started, eyes slitting in suspicion before something like relief flashed through his features. The answering grin was just as bright and lashes dipped low, a fine flush suffusing the pale skin.

 

Well. That was… different…

 

Greg laughed gently, uneasily, awkward at the sudden tension. He was imagining this, yes?

 

“Lestrade… I- Well, thank you. For… coming with me… tonight.”

 

The uncharacteristic stammer had Greg spitting the mouthful of lager he’d just taken in surprise. Just what in the bloody hell… “Sherlock, are you alright?” he felt his own skin flushing- embarrassment, truly…

 

“Yes, why do you ask?” Hope. That was definitely hope. And was Sherlock sounding just a bit… breathless…? Dick move. It would be a _dick move_ to cut and run now.

 

“Well… You just… I mean…” _oh sod it_ “never mind…” He guiltily chugged down the rest of his drink, turning to catch the bartender’s eye and ask for another… He couldn’t, he just _couldn’t_ at this rate. Unfortunately, the bartender was busy with the busty blonde at the other end of the bar and before he could complain about having the only straight bartender in the club, he found himself dragged away from the bar, through the hot and sweaty masses on the dance floor, and into a bathroom that looked like it had seen better days. “Sherlock, what-“ was about as much as he could get out before being shoved into the third stall from the back wall, and _followed in by the detective_ _just what in the sodding Christ was going on here_?!

 

“Sherlock this place is disgusting!” was probably not the most productive thing to finally get out, but it was quite relevant as Sherlock pushed him _down_ to sit on the commode and _got on his knees oh no no no_

 

“Please, I’ve done this in worse places,” it was almost back to normal, a little stiff and holier-than-thou, but then hands were on the flies of his trousers and _no, that’s not what he’d signed up for_ Lestrade caught Sherlock’s hands before he could go much further but before he could admonish using proper English, he finally made eye-contact with the madman, and the words died in his throat. “Please,” the soft whisper, voice thick and choked _surely not with tears_... Lestrade honestly didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t gay _he wasn’t_ hadn’t even looked twice at a bloke since he was a teenager and curious, and it’s not like Sherlock wasn’t plainly attractive _always had been_ but he was still a man and he’d never even _wanted to_ but there was something on his face that said he’d have to tread _very carefully_. “I’ll make it good, I promise,” those lashes fluttered again, he couldn’t help it, his gaze shot straight to those lips _cock-sucking lips_ he’d heard the way peopled talked _and okay maybe he’d thought about it_ …

 

Sherlock took advantage of the pause and dug his hand into the part in Lestrade’s pants, and Greg sucked in a breath, coughing it back out again as his lungs filled with the sick-sweet scent of the club loo, but Sherlock was undeterred and he tugged and fondled, bringing Greg’s prick to hardness. A soft moan was the only warning before Sherlock descended on the thing, all warm silky heat and rough tongue and _pressure_ and _fuck but that felt good_ and Lestrade couldn’t decide what to do with his hands, he didn’t want to _touch anything_ so he wound them in the curls attached to the head _attached to him_ and Sherlock moaned again, louder, sending shocks of vibrations along Greg’s shaft and straight up his spine- he’d meant to maybe pull Sherlock off of him probably but he _knew what he was doing_ did anybody else know that Sherlock ate cock like a starving man _Christ_ no wonder the git was such a smug tosser “Sherlock…”

 

“hmmm-“ the hummed response rendered Greg mute once more, but Sherlock didn’t stop, he licked and sucked and slurped and moaned like the happiest man on Earth.

 

“Sherlock _fuck_ come on, you don’t have to do this...” Babbling. He was babbling. Of course Sherlock didn’t have to do this, but it was pretty bloody obvious that the man on his knees in a public toilet _wanted to be on his knees in a public toilet_ and his fingers clenched tighter in Sherlock’s hair as he swallowed around him, and the _broken_ noise Sherlock made prompted Greg to look down and “ _Sherlock what are you doing?!”_

 

Sherlock pulled off with an obscene noise, and pressed his forehead again Greg’s thigh, panting as his right hand worked itself down the back of his tailored trousers. “Please,” it was breathless and rough, voice wrecked from the prick he’d had down his throat, “please, daddy, I’ve been a good boy—“

 

Bizzare. Surreal. He was dreaming. There’d been a bar fight, and he’d been knocked unconscious. Or he was at home in bed in a solitary drunken stupor. There was no way any of this was real. But then Sherlock’s breath hitched and he whimpered, nuzzling back against Lestrades _still hard cock_ and just what was happening to him?

 

“I’ve been such a good boy, please fuck me, daddy, I”ll do all the work just please I’ll be good I promise _please_ —“ Sherlock was working himself into a tizzy, between the fingers clearly buried deep in his own arse and the prick he kept giving small kitten licks to, and _yes those were definitely tears sodding Christ what had he gotten himself into_.

 

“I- Sherlock, just…” Lost. There were no words. Gaping like a fish, and dick flapping about, and pants around his ankles _literally_ and he just… couldn’t say no. Not to that face. Nevermind what he’d have to deal with tomorrow, right now he couldn’t handle a grown man with his face in his lap _crying_ because Greg wouldn’t fuck him, so… “okay, Sherlock…”

 

The detective beamed up at him, sudden and frankly unnerving, before the man stood up, fishing something out of a pocket and letting his trousers and pants fall the rest of the way down his thighs. He set to task immediately, true to his word to do all the work, and toed off one shoe while rolling a johnny over Greg’s erection, before turning around and _Jesus fuck_ the man _sat on his cock_ there was no other way to describe it, he pushed it _in_ and swallowed him up all in one go, and Greg spasmed, head hitting the wall behind him and he almost missed the reverent “Oh daddy _yes_ ” and the only way to stay grounded in this rabbit-hole of a ride was to grip the detectives hips _hard yes that would bruise_ and Sherlock let loose a grateful sob before rolling his hips and lifting up _just a bit_ and sank back down in a seemingly never-ending grind of hard flesh and heat and Greg was sweating and he never really had control of this situation he saw that now, but as far as cock-ups go this was a rather more satisfying end and anyway it probably wasn’t really happening, Greg had died and this was some sort of fucked up heaven _or hell, really_ he was just going to go with it and see how it ended because _Christ this man knew how to fuck_ and the words just _dripped_ out of the detective ‘ _daddy, please, I’ve been good, I’ve been so good, please let me have it’_ and Greg decided to just throw in the towel and play along _‘yes, you’re a good boy, Sherlock, that’s it’_ and Sherlock cried out, trembling, before doubling his efforts, lifting up and falling back down with such _force shit that had to hurt_ and he wouldn’t shut up, and they were in a public loo _Christ_ so Greg wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s mouth in a panic and so there he was, face pressed against the detective’s sweaty back trying to stay something like quiet himself and trying not to thrust up into the tight willing body crushing around him _and trying to just keep it together_ when Sherlock tensed, slowed, tried not to slow, couldn’t keep the rhythm, mumbled into Greg’s hand _‘fuck fuck daddy fuck’_ and then it didn’t matter anymore because Sherlock squeezed one hand around Greg’s thigh, and the other around his own abandoned prick and the _sounds_ that wrench themselves free from somewhere deep inside him and wait, some of that noise was his own as well because he was coming too, and _shut up shut up shut up_ -

 

Greg came back to himself as Sherlock detached from his clawed grip, and he registered the angry banging on the stall door _shit_ and Sherlock’s back was to him as he pulled his clothes back to rights _that’s probably a good idea_ -

 

“I said that’s enough, you two! This isn’t the place for that, get your arses out here before I take the bloody door down!” _shit shit shit_

 

**

 

“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever been kicked out of a club, before,” Greg chuckled _awkward, fill the silence, don’t fill it too obviously, chill the fuck out Greg you just fucked the man you literally cannot get any more intimate than that just relax it’s done_

 

“First time for everything,” the detective sniffed. _He’s not making eye contact, why isn’t he making eye contact, fuck it’s awkward shit what do I do_

 

“Look, Sherlock, I-“

 

“Thank you for coming with me tonight, Lestrade, I’m sorry our efforts were wasted,” he was back to haughty, detached, aloof, _Sherlock_ , “I’ll have to go back to my sources, clearly they were wrong about this location, I’ll have to establish another method of locating the target-“

 

”Will you call me?” _shit that was wrong_ ”I mean if you get a new lead? I can still be your” _your what Christ you’re not a girl Greg get it the fuck together_ ”I can still be your backup…”

 

Sherlock shifted slightly, looked at him through the corner of his eye, sniffed once, and turned on his heel, walking away up the sidewalk, long fingers stretched out to flag down a passing cab.

 

Greg supposed that’s what he’d been all along… _backup_.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I just did


End file.
